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Saturday, May 30, 2009
Friday, May 29, 2009
Morning Trot-About
Now that pre-summer is here, Das Pack have started our morning walks again. Come June, by mid-morning, it gets too hot for the fuzzy butts. They’re all eager to get out but, once the sun’s hard glare starts heating furr, their strength gets sapped. When Fips and Rosco were younger, (and the Earth cooler), they could trot a full Loopy Loop circuit even at 11.30 provided they got some water slurps half way through. That was then.
So now, I’ve got to drag my white butt out of bed by 6:00, so that we can get to the track and field by 6:30 (one hopes!) and at least finish the walk by 7:30 or maybe 8.00. One needn’t be too damn military about this.
Last year, before The Fires, I would take the pups to the track around 8.00, But even by then it started to heat up and I didn’t feel that comfortable power trotting Fips more than two laps. I might try to work in a lap or two for Rosco to help him loose weight, but otherwise will let their pups set their own pace.
At seven, there’s still a fresh nip in the air, the sun is soft and a sheen of cool dew covers the grass and feels good on the spongies.
And by 8.00 I'll be back in bed.....
.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
A Swelling Paw, a Flattening Wallet and Brotherly Love
Lick-lick-lick-lick-lick-lick .... pause.... lick-lick-lick-lick-lick-lick
Of course it would happen over the weekend that Rosco got a foxtail in his hind paw. I first took note when I saw him limping a bit. I checked between his spongies for a burr and between his toes for the evil sliver, but did not see a thing. Hmmmm. Maybe he's getting arthritic ... or worse....
Lick-lick-lick-lick-lick-lick .... pause.... lick-lick-lick-lick-lick-lick
By morning it was clear it had to be a foxtail, but I still could not find anything, and it was not until Rosco had licked the hair off the swelling boil that I saw the entry point. I tried pressing it out, but all that accomplished was getting Rosco not to cooperate.
Rosco has had few foxtails in his life. In fact, this was only the second. But god knows Fips has had enough of them that, if nothing else, I've learned not to get completely hysterical... at least so long as they are not in the ear or nose or eye....
Rosco was in discomfort but not in pain. In fact, as the boil grew, his walking became more normal and he even ran. So keeping the occasional eye on things, and after giving Sally the Vet a heads up, I decided to wait until Tuesday.
Tuesday morning we drove over to Sally's winery-cum-vet-clinic where she checked both dogs' ears and Rosco's fox tail. As her assistant and I held a quivering and whimpering muscle pup she tried to fish out the foxtail....but without success. Darn.
As an alternative to her $300.00 fee, Sally suggested putting Rosco on anti-biotics and waiting to see if the foxtail worked its way out. "Fifty percent of the time, I don't find them anyway," she said, adding that if it appeared to be working its way up the leg we could then re-consider surgery.
I have never heard that foxtails "work" their way out. In fact, they work their way in. But if the swelling gets big, tender and sufficiently full of puss, it may be possible to pop them out, or fish them out more easily. So puss and pop it was.
By this afteroon, the swelling was getting bigger, but the antibiotics Sally prescribed were sealing the entry point. Sigh. As Rosco's paw swelled, I could see my wallet flattening.
It was too hot to drive over to Pope Valley, and as Middletown Vet quoted me $220, that's where we went. The advantage to Middletown Vet is that it is just a hop, skip and a jump a way. Sometimes their quotes are eminently reasonable and other times they are off the charts. Today they were under-market. Certainly compared to one Santa Rosa outfit called "Affordable Vet Care" that quoted $300.00-$500.00.
Thinking it was time for a walk about, Rosco ran to the Jeep, placed his paws on the door frame and waited to be lifted up. Heave ho. Fips next. Two minutes later and Rosco had a thermometer up his butt and a stethoscope on his chest. That done, he made for the door, but was tugged away to the inside place
Poor doggies. They know enough to know that uncertain and painful things can happen, and that they cannot prevent this fate. For the most part there is nothing we can really say to balance out their fear and helplessness. With Fips I do get the sense that reassurance registers in some way; but Rosco is much more immediate and focused. Counterbalancing opposites is not in his spectrum.
At least it would be quick. Forty five minutes later I picked up a groggy Rosco with a big red bandage on his foot, plus the mother of all foxtails which had been buried god only knows where. Rosco limp-ran to the truck and, once home back inside where he konked out for the rest of the evening.
As always, Fips understands what's going on. "A phoochy has happened to Rosco." And as the senior pup, it's Fips beholden doggie duty to watch out for little brother.
.
As an alternative to her $300.00 fee, Sally suggested putting Rosco on anti-biotics and waiting to see if the foxtail worked its way out. "Fifty percent of the time, I don't find them anyway," she said, adding that if it appeared to be working its way up the leg we could then re-consider surgery.
I have never heard that foxtails "work" their way out. In fact, they work their way in. But if the swelling gets big, tender and sufficiently full of puss, it may be possible to pop them out, or fish them out more easily. So puss and pop it was.
By this afteroon, the swelling was getting bigger, but the antibiotics Sally prescribed were sealing the entry point. Sigh. As Rosco's paw swelled, I could see my wallet flattening.
It was too hot to drive over to Pope Valley, and as Middletown Vet quoted me $220, that's where we went. The advantage to Middletown Vet is that it is just a hop, skip and a jump a way. Sometimes their quotes are eminently reasonable and other times they are off the charts. Today they were under-market. Certainly compared to one Santa Rosa outfit called "Affordable Vet Care" that quoted $300.00-$500.00.
Thinking it was time for a walk about, Rosco ran to the Jeep, placed his paws on the door frame and waited to be lifted up. Heave ho. Fips next. Two minutes later and Rosco had a thermometer up his butt and a stethoscope on his chest. That done, he made for the door, but was tugged away to the inside place
Poor doggies. They know enough to know that uncertain and painful things can happen, and that they cannot prevent this fate. For the most part there is nothing we can really say to balance out their fear and helplessness. With Fips I do get the sense that reassurance registers in some way; but Rosco is much more immediate and focused. Counterbalancing opposites is not in his spectrum.
At least it would be quick. Forty five minutes later I picked up a groggy Rosco with a big red bandage on his foot, plus the mother of all foxtails which had been buried god only knows where. Rosco limp-ran to the truck and, once home back inside where he konked out for the rest of the evening.
As always, Fips understands what's going on. "A phoochy has happened to Rosco." And as the senior pup, it's Fips beholden doggie duty to watch out for little brother.
.
Monday, May 18, 2009
Fips Runs Up High Colors
Well, Fips had his Fifteenth Annual Physical on Saturday and passed with colors just about to the top of the mast.
I took Fips to Sally-the-Valley-Vet in part because I didn't feel like taking up two days to drive down to Moraga to see Craig Smith, but also in part because I am annoyed at Smith for having charged a $35.00 "lab technician fee" to draw a vial of blood. I asked the receptionist/file technician why such a fee was charged and she said "Well, it actually requires technical expertise to decide how many vials might be needed and where to ... " "Stop it," I said, "Just stop it. I'll call in June to set up an appointment." {click}
Smith is a good vet. I trust his judgement and he's gentle with dogs. Fips likes him and I trust Fips' judgement too. I'd be happy to visit him again, at least for a routine exam; but, unfortunately, Smith has jumped on the screw-you-for-service bandwagon. Last visit we discussed taking an X-ray. He wanted to charge an extra $150.00 to anesthetize Fips on the grounds that dogs move around. I reminded him that both Fips and Rosco have had plenty of X-rays that only required being held by a "dog-holding technician". I forewent the X-ray. It's a shame, but the United States has reached that point where it has become an organism that consumes itself.
And so.... we drove the hills and ravines of Butts Canyon over to Sally's place. It was warm but there was a shady spot I could park and leave a hurt and disappointed Rosco in the car while I took Fips inside for his check up. Sally was on the phone, and after chasing the cat from its sleeping pillow Fips poked around exploring the premises.
Fips has been showing no signs of anything and has in fact continued to be pretty perky... at times extraordinarily perky for a Senior Dachshund. I told Sally that I basically just wanted to run a comprehensive blood test since that last one was two years old; and I wanted his eyes and hind legs checked.
I was pretty sure his eyes were ok, because the other day, while sniffing air on the field, Fips espied a cat about 100 yards away and started barking at it. And, as it turns out, his eyes are still OK except for some old age clouding, which is what he had last year.
Fips' heart is also OK. He continues to have an irregular rythm, which Sally characterized as slight. Making a rasberry sound, she said she had a cat who lived for a number of years with a heart beat that sounded likie a spluttering exhaust.
Sally detected no "neurlogical deficits" in the hind legs. On the other hand, the symptoms I described about a sloppy leg on turning or stepping back did sound to her like a slightly pinched nerve, although it could conceivably be arthritis. In any case she did not think there was much to be done at this point (which was Smith's recommendation as well).
We also discussed Fips being on previcox. I explained that the Clearlake Vet had suggested puting Fips on anti-inflammatories as a prophylactic measure to prevent the further growth of spurs on his vertebrae. Sally did not put much truck in that theory and suggested I consider taking Fips off previcox.
Sally drew one vial of blood herself and said she would call me on Monday when the results were in.
She called this afternoon to report that everything checked out fine. Fips' blood cells read out as a tad anemic just as he was two years ago, leading her to think this might be his normal. readout. His liver reading (134) was "just slightly" elevated and, in view of this, she wants me to take Fips off the previcox for 10 days. If he shows no signs of pain or arthritis then it's not doing him any good and I might as well save some money. If he does warrant being put back on the drug, then at least it wasn't affecting his liver very much.
About a week ago, I started giving Fips night-time back and hip massages which I might as well continue and which if nothing else add up to the Life of Reilly for him. Rosco gets them on alternate nights and although he doesn't moan and sigh as much as Fips does (such a mensch) he gets very still which is the way Rosco communicates his contentment.
Smith is a good vet. I trust his judgement and he's gentle with dogs. Fips likes him and I trust Fips' judgement too. I'd be happy to visit him again, at least for a routine exam; but, unfortunately, Smith has jumped on the screw-you-for-service bandwagon. Last visit we discussed taking an X-ray. He wanted to charge an extra $150.00 to anesthetize Fips on the grounds that dogs move around. I reminded him that both Fips and Rosco have had plenty of X-rays that only required being held by a "dog-holding technician". I forewent the X-ray. It's a shame, but the United States has reached that point where it has become an organism that consumes itself.
And so.... we drove the hills and ravines of Butts Canyon over to Sally's place. It was warm but there was a shady spot I could park and leave a hurt and disappointed Rosco in the car while I took Fips inside for his check up. Sally was on the phone, and after chasing the cat from its sleeping pillow Fips poked around exploring the premises.
Fips has been showing no signs of anything and has in fact continued to be pretty perky... at times extraordinarily perky for a Senior Dachshund. I told Sally that I basically just wanted to run a comprehensive blood test since that last one was two years old; and I wanted his eyes and hind legs checked.
I was pretty sure his eyes were ok, because the other day, while sniffing air on the field, Fips espied a cat about 100 yards away and started barking at it. And, as it turns out, his eyes are still OK except for some old age clouding, which is what he had last year.
Fips' heart is also OK. He continues to have an irregular rythm, which Sally characterized as slight. Making a rasberry sound, she said she had a cat who lived for a number of years with a heart beat that sounded likie a spluttering exhaust.
Sally detected no "neurlogical deficits" in the hind legs. On the other hand, the symptoms I described about a sloppy leg on turning or stepping back did sound to her like a slightly pinched nerve, although it could conceivably be arthritis. In any case she did not think there was much to be done at this point (which was Smith's recommendation as well).
We also discussed Fips being on previcox. I explained that the Clearlake Vet had suggested puting Fips on anti-inflammatories as a prophylactic measure to prevent the further growth of spurs on his vertebrae. Sally did not put much truck in that theory and suggested I consider taking Fips off previcox.
Sally drew one vial of blood herself and said she would call me on Monday when the results were in.
She called this afternoon to report that everything checked out fine. Fips' blood cells read out as a tad anemic just as he was two years ago, leading her to think this might be his normal. readout. His liver reading (134) was "just slightly" elevated and, in view of this, she wants me to take Fips off the previcox for 10 days. If he shows no signs of pain or arthritis then it's not doing him any good and I might as well save some money. If he does warrant being put back on the drug, then at least it wasn't affecting his liver very much.
About a week ago, I started giving Fips night-time back and hip massages which I might as well continue and which if nothing else add up to the Life of Reilly for him. Rosco gets them on alternate nights and although he doesn't moan and sigh as much as Fips does (such a mensch) he gets very still which is the way Rosco communicates his contentment.
After Sally hung up, I went over to Fips and held his fuzzy wuzzy nuzzle in my hands and told him that he was a Big Champ. I don't know how much of all this he puts together, but he definitely understands that I am happy with him and that makes him feel secure which, in addition to not feeling bad about anything, chalks up to feeling pretty good.
Imagine... Sue's Runt... still perky and healthy at 15. I'm tempted to give her a call.
.
Saturday, May 16, 2009
Possessing the Ball
Shortly before I went to bed, I thought to myself that, since September last, Fips had given up on the Bedtime Ball Game and seemed to have lost interest in it. Well, I guess that's that, I said to myself as I got into bed next to an already snuggled mass of warm fur.
Fips lay there for a while and then suddenly got up, jumped off the bed and started to do his play hopping around the floor.
"Are you serious...?"
Hop....skip...hop/hop... circle hop....skip... wag, wag, wag, wag.
So I got up, fetched a bal and tossed it.
Scamper, scamper, scamper.....
But after two tosses, Fips was no longer interested in scampering. Instead he climbed back into bed where he propped himself up on a pillow with the tennis ball in his mouth.
I reached for the ball with my hand, and Fips strongly jerked his head away. I reached again. Grrrr-Grrrrr and yank away. Again. He pushed my hand down with his paw and jerked his head away.
Domi Paw -- I tried lifting my hand up. His paw pressed down. Up? Down!
I pulled my hand out from under and reached for the ball. Grrrr-GrrRRR!
I whispered into Fips' ear: "Fipsie possess the bal"
Fips raised his head up, lifting the ball high in his mouth.
Fips knows what "possess"means. This knowledge goes way back to a stupid thing the tail-less wonder once did. But the sound means that I am "re-giving" and "not-taking" whatever it is that it is in his mouth or under his chin. "Not taking" means "having continues" which is what possession is all about.
Fips' paw is on my forearm. "Yesss... Fipsie possess the bal," I say as I gently pat the ball with the flat of my fingers. Fips raises his head, and pressess down on my forearm. He is clearly enjoying this Affrimation of Dominion. In fact, he is so into it that just to prove the point he drops the ball into the palm of my hand and then immediately snatches it away again as he presses down with his paw.
"Oh yesss," I coo, "Fipsie's a good doggie. Fipsie possess the bal."
This continues for quite some time, with me taping the ball, him dropping it, me making feeble attempts to pull it from his mouth, he jerking away and pressing down with his paw. Validating his possession. This is the entire purpose of the game.
After about 15 minutes, he tires of the game, drops the ball, goes for a slurp of water and then crawls back into bed, curls up and goes to sleep.
.
Fips' paw is on my forearm. "Yesss... Fipsie possess the bal," I say as I gently pat the ball with the flat of my fingers. Fips raises his head, and pressess down on my forearm. He is clearly enjoying this Affrimation of Dominion. In fact, he is so into it that just to prove the point he drops the ball into the palm of my hand and then immediately snatches it away again as he presses down with his paw.
"Oh yesss," I coo, "Fipsie's a good doggie. Fipsie possess the bal."
This continues for quite some time, with me taping the ball, him dropping it, me making feeble attempts to pull it from his mouth, he jerking away and pressing down with his paw. Validating his possession. This is the entire purpose of the game.
After about 15 minutes, he tires of the game, drops the ball, goes for a slurp of water and then crawls back into bed, curls up and goes to sleep.
.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
A Shared Sense of Continuity
Today is Fips's fifteenth birthday. Absent minded as I am, I thought it was on Friday.... and so I did not do anything extra special, other than giving him and Rosco some chunk-ohs by way of casual treat.
But toward sundown I did take the pups to the high school and after the usual sniff-for-scraps, we ambled over to the green expanse of empty playing fields which today we had all to ourselves. Artificial though it is, this vast grassy carpet is a thing of beauty to me and a place of tactile pleasure for the dogs, who love to roll their backs on the grass and then scratch and paw the moist sod. I know Fips enjoys the the feel of soft blades under his spongies.
Fips and I sat down in the middle of the field, as Rosco ambled around following a scent but staying within range. The sun was reflecting softly off Fips's golden, chestnut hair as the wind brushed gently over his fuzzy face.
I stared at his beautiful profile, amazed and grateful that he is as healthy as he is and happy for the long haul of all these years. I am not sure dogs have the sense of time we do, but I'm pretty sure Fips has a shared sense of magnitude and continuity.
Fips narrowed his eyes as his nose took in the in rushing scent. He must have been aware of me staring at him, because he turned his face, looked at me with his big brown eyes and gave me a little dog-kiss.
I stared at his beautiful profile, amazed and grateful that he is as healthy as he is and happy for the long haul of all these years. I am not sure dogs have the sense of time we do, but I'm pretty sure Fips has a shared sense of magnitude and continuity.
Fips narrowed his eyes as his nose took in the in rushing scent. He must have been aware of me staring at him, because he turned his face, looked at me with his big brown eyes and gave me a little dog-kiss.
.
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